


Whiskey Kisses

by Caidyn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caidyn/pseuds/Caidyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene's whiskey filled kisses with two men that needed her and her assistance far more than either of them knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barcelona

**Author's Note:**

> I got prompted by a lovely generator for these two pairings in a row, with the same prompt of whiskey, and I couldn't help but want to make them linked.

The little birdy that had told her Sherlock Holmes wasn't dead and currently was in Barcelona, Spain, had been correct. Irene Adler stayed a safe distance away as she watched him down glass after glass of whiskey while sitting alone at a local bar in the city. How curious to see such an unemotional man show so much sentiment in an unexpected way. She stood up from her booth in the corner, walking towards the bar with her heels clicking across the floor until she came to a stop beside him.

"Dear me, Mr. Holmes," she murmured, smiling in a way that allowed her teeth to show past her perfectly red-painted lips. "You should slow down or you're not going to get home on your own. I would hate to see you pass out in some gutter."

His head turned and those familiar eyes swept over her body. Everything about him was the same, except for a certain hollowness now in his eyes that had been so bright and sharp before. Now they were just dull and lazy. She pushed her dress under her bum as she sat, saying, "Still rude. Not offering a lady to sit."

"You never were a lady, Irene," he scoffed, looking back at the half drunk contents of his glass. "A ruthless businesswoman, yes; but a lady? -- never."

Sherlock didn't even seem surprised to see her he. By now she was certain that he knew she kept tabs on him. He brought the glass up to his lips and finished it as she watched.

"I think we should get you back to your hotel room. What a mess you are. Can you do anything without your dear blogger by your side?" Her voice was mocking as she leaned forward, lips pursed as she looked at him.

The glass made a noise as he placed it on the table, not bothering to look at her as he stood unsteadily. "I'm still figuring how to do things without John. Though, you know how that goes when you lost Kate. Come back when another week has passed and check in on me again." Sherlock shrugged on the same coat he had been known for in London, flipping up the collar out of what was instinct.

Irene clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Tomorrow you need to go shopping to pick up some new clothes for a disguise, not to mention some hair dye. If you go around like this, people will recognize you. I don't think you want that considering this little mission that you've decided to pick up."

"Yes, getting recognized while assassinating someone is the worst of my problems," he stated. Irene wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic, but she knew her assumptions had been correct.

He was going for Moriarty's web. Definitely dangerous. Irene's eyes sparkled at the idea of that adventure. A fantasy lived shortly in her mind of being able to do something like that with him. They were far better matched than he and John had been.

It disappeared, that brief hope, when she saw the look on his face. Heartbreak was something she had only seen on her own face when her plans had gotten dashed because of the man right in front of her. She had reversed the situation now, and _he_ was looking at _her_ with a look she couldn't describe for she hadn't seen anything as deep as his went before.

In that moment, she pitied him.

"Come now," she said, grabbing his elbow with her spidery fingers to lead the man away from drinking more than he already had.

The bar hadn't been far from the hotel she knew he was staying at -- probably planned out so he wouldn't have to walk long to get back -- and soon she was in front of the room he was in. Her fingers dipped into his pockets to fumble for a key Halfway through her leading him, he had gotten lost to the world from his grief over the man she knew he loved and he still hadn't snapped out of it.

Irene ushered him into the room upon getting the door open, shoving him down to the bed. Still wasn't answering her. She sighed and muttered, "Great useless thing." Her heels were off in a moment. Now her feet were quiet as she went to him, straddling him, to push the coat from his shoulders, hands running sensually down his arms.

"What are you doing," he whispered.

The words rumbled directly into her ear in a way that was just so _delicious_. "Shh," she breathed out, pulling back enough to pass a finger over his lips. "I'm going to take care of you like John never will. Relax, Mr. Holmes. I won't hurt you."

Sherlock almost seemed to relax at that. Giving over the power was a good thing in this moment. He didn't want it, she could see. Without John he was so different, yet still the same man who had once beaten her then saved her life. She owed him for that yet. And if she could do something to remedy his heartbreak for a little while, then she would. He needed to use his great mind on matters like how he was going to get away with multiple murders.

Her fingers nimbly pushed back his black suit-jacket from his shoulders, followed by the strained buttons on his black dress shirt. She leaned forward automatically to pluck the clothes from the bed to toss them on the floor along with the other belongings of his.

Pictures, maps, and papers holding secret information were strewn across the floor. Irene figured out easily that they were his plans over the person he was going after first. According to the pictures it was a middle-aged man that she had for a client. He was her excuse for coming here. Pity, he had always been a good and loyal client.

It wasn't long until he was wearing just his boxers before her. Irene met his eyes, seeing they were now clearer than before. Oh, he understood what was going on. She could see it in them as she ran her fingers over his cheek, nails lightly scraping his skin.

"Is this truly wise," he asked, lifting one of his hands to take hers off his cheek. It completely engulfed her smaller one. "You know as well as I that the nickname Moriarty gave me is very accurate."

"I'll do all the work. You sit back and observe. I know how much you love to do that. Before you do, be a dear and unzip my dress," he cooed, the corners of her mouth turning up as she turned her hand over under his to stroke the palm of his hand. It was surprisingly smooth considering all the chemical burns that covered his arms.

His hand slid out from under hers to join the other one behind her back, slowly pulling down the zipper while his fingers seemed to rush at the contact of her skin against his fingertips. The familiar dress -- it left her arms bare and was black with sequins that made it seem to glimmer in under the yellow light -- that she wore during the pictures she had taken for her website.

She pushed it down her body, shimmying it down so it revealed her to her waist.. No bra, but it wasn't as if Sherlock hadn't seen her like this before. Irene put her hands on his shoulders and slowly pushed him back on to the bed so she could be completely dominant.

Power always was a huge turn on for her. Through the cloth of her underwear, specifically a thong, she could feel herself pulsing steadily against him, wanting something she knew that if she played her cards right, she could have.

From below her, Sherlock chuckled softly. "The blue of your eyes is gone." He propped himself up on the bed, reaching a hand up so his fingers pressed into her cheek -- Irene's eyes closed at the touch, body leaning into it, and she breathed out slowly -- then dropped it from her cheek as if remembering this wasn't who he wanted.

To distract him, her hips circled around. She got her stimulation and felt Sherlock react. There was an erection beginning below her hips. She smiled again, eyes bright now that they were starting this game she wanted to teach him. Her fingers ran through those messy curls as she continued moving her body to get what she wanted. The curls pushed back from over his eyes to see how bright they were as well. The brightness was from the alcohol but sadness still lay in them, etching deep into who he was. Unexplainable tears began falling from his eyes to make salty tracks over his cheeks that just wouldn't go away as she wiped at them.

"Shh," she whispered, cupping his cheeks, "Don't cry now." Irene leaned in and pressed their lips together. The sharpness of his early drink covered anything else that she may have been able to taste. His lips stayed stationary, meaning that she did all the work.

Sherlock pulled back, breathing out shakily through his mouth. "I miss him," he finally mumbled. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but out of the corner of his eye at a place in the room she didn't bother to look at as well. "Everything hurts and I don't know why. There's a tightness in my chest when I breathe. I just want to lay around and do nothing. I... I'm so worried about him." His voice was small and childlike. Poor him.

He and John definitely were a couple. This sealed it in her mind.

Her fingers again moved over his cheek, feeling the sharp cheekbones that still seemed able to cut anything. "I'll do what you ask of me," she said, feeling a grudge for having to submit to him. "I owe you my life and I intend on getting out of this debt by whatever you ask of me."

"I never thought you as obedient," he said dully as he took her hand again, running one long finger over her skin. "But I want you to continue what you had done earlier. With your hips that is." A bit of color came to his cheeks. "Then I'll tell you what I want after."

Irene smiled, nodding her head and taking his hand all over again. "Of course. Lay down." She shoved his shoulder with a wink as she circled her hips again, feeling him harden and seeing how he reacted with those simple movements. Her hips rocked back and forth steadily. This was all simple enough and she wasn't planning on more anymore seeing that he hadn't asked for anything else.

Her hands rested on her thighs and she began moving them down to Sherlock's boxers, tugging them down inch by inch until she could see every bit of him. There was a tuft of black pubic hair at the base of his uncircumcised erection. Each movement moved his foreskin and the look on his face read absolute astonishment and pleasure. 

The flushed head of his cock peeked through the foreskin, precum coating it as it did her underwear. It made the slide easy and slick. She moved herself faster, pressing harder into him to try to get pressure on her clitoris. Sherlock's hands were gripping the sheets on the bed. Confusion etched on his face right before his hips arched up and he came.

First time and he hadn't known what was going on. Irene slowed her hips as she felt him finish completely. He was breathing heavy, hands releasing the sheets beneath him as he collapsed there.

She let out a sigh and pulled her dress back up, doing up the zipper the best that she could on her own. Tears were shining in Sherlock's eyes once more. "I want you to watch over John or get someone to watch over him," he commanded, catching his breath as he spoke. "Someone you trust that will report to me weekly on him. Male or female. Do that and we're even, Irene."

Right away from the tone of his voice she started getting up, sensing that he wasn't going to want her there any longer.

"Yes. I'll do that. I promise."

She left the room after he nodded his head, not looking back now that she knew her debt was going to be repaid.


	2. London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics I used for the song is Ghosts That We Knew by Mumford & Sons from their album Babel.

London’s air was full of the disgusting smog that made Irene’s nose wrinkle. The exhaust from cars that polluted the air only made her long for the clean countryside of Italy that she had left for this. Even though her wish was just to be free of her debt, it almost wasn’t worth it when back in the city. The hotel she was staying in, a few blocks from Baker Street, wasn’t enough.

It was easy to keep watch on John. The doctor didn’t do things of interest since the routine he seemed stuck on wasn’t deviated: Work, Sherlock’s grave, Baker Street, Angelo’s, and finally home in the early hours of the morning. Even after weeks of careful watching, he hadn’t changed once. No dates, no people stopping by save for that inspector Sherlock had worked with. He was so deep in his mourning that she pitied him almost as much as she pitied Sherlock.

But, how Sherlock had ever found interest in him, was a mystery to her.

That night she was making her move after those weeks of painstaking watching. She knew where he was going to be exactly and walked into the restaurant. Few customers peppered the place, which was good for her purposes. The heels she was wearing fell silent against the carpet, coming up beside the man to stare out the window with him.

She could see his eyes on her through her reflection, but still he didn’t speak. Gazing at her, he took a drink from the light brown liquid. From the smell she could tell it was whiskey. Not as expensive as the kind Sherlock had been sipping on when they had spoken, but still whiskey nonetheless.

“What are you doing here,” he finally asked, eyes never leaving her reflection.

No surprise in his voice. It enhanced the mourning period that he was putting himself with the dullness of it all. When she had met he had been a fighter, so feisty when defending the thing that he loved from pain. Irene moved from beside him, pulling out her own chair to settle in. Neither knew manners very well. No surprise there. She didn’t expect much from these men anymore.

“I heard of Sherlock’s death and I felt that it would be best to come here and show my grief with someone I’m sure knows it better than myself,” she replied smoothly, bringing one leg over the other with her hands placed on her lap. “My sympathies for Mr. Holmes.”

John scoffed, taking a drink from that glass before slamming it down. “Yes, of course you’re upset over his death,” he snapped. He didn’t meet her eyes but kept his focused on the table with that absent look on his face, making it seem like he truly wasn’t there anymore. “Everyone is, so it seems. The man who everyone hated is the man most missed.”

For a moment there was a smirk on her red painted lips while her eyes were on the speeding cars that passed them by on the street. If only he knew. But, if he knew, he wouldn’t be here, would he? The poor doctor would follow the detective to the ends of the world and back, that much was for sure in their relationship. But she stopped when she met his eyes; cold and stoic. They amazed her so much. The deep blue was far harder than she last remembered it.

A daring hand touched his cheek, nails stroking it very lightly. “Of course I miss him. We both know what it’s like to love that man,” she whispered. “Perhaps we should get out of here, John, leave this place before you get more inebriated than you already are.” The other hand snaked over to take the glass from him. She brought it to her lips and took a sip over where his lips had been. An imprint of her red lips rested there once she had set it back where it had been.

“Why would I leave with you?”

“Because, I want to be consoled tonight and sometimes letting off steam through consoling can help with the grief.”

Her hand now moved to rest against his thigh under the table, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against the pads of her fingers. “And I’m sure that you’d like to be consoled for once in your life, Dr. Watson. A great army doctor such as yourself doesn’t have time to grieve. The pain gets caught up deep inside and festers like a wound left untreated. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”

Under the table, his hand came down and went over hers. Rough doctor’s hands. They told stories that he never would, not even to the love of his life. Irene leaned in a bit to look at him. “I promise I won’t do anything out of the ordinary,” she added, voice subdued for the sake of keeping this conversation between them. “None of my dominatrix tricks. I don’t know whether you’d like vanilla or rough sex more.”

The doctor’s face leaned in closer; every wrinkle was there for her to see. Deep purple bags were under his eyes. “A woman made to have sex can’t figure me out. I can see why Sherlock beat you now.”

Her eyes flashed in vehemently at him, hand grasping at the thigh beneath her to try to bite into the skin. “Rough it is,” she snarled under her breath. “You get what you ask for.” Under his hand, hers slipped away, traveling dangerously upwards to squeeze.

Just when she had gotten a spark in those eyes, she pulled her hand off him and stood up, reaching into the purse she kept around her to pull out the blood red lipstick and reapply it by pouting her lips. “I’ll hail a cab. You be out in five minutes or I’m leaving without you and you’ll have to get your own damn ride.” Winking, she walked off, heels finally clicking across the floor once she hit the tile near the entrance of the restaurant.

At the curb she stood, waiting for a damn cab to get over. Her heel clicked impatiently on the ground, speaking more words than she felt were coming to her at the given moment. A silent arm wrapped around her waist. Those icy eyes she had focused up at John who was standing there beside her.

“Habit,” he explained. “Most women that I sleep with are on dates, not anything like this. I like treating a woman at least halfway decent before taking them to my bed.”

“Such a gentleman,” she sarcastically said as the cab got there. Irene moved from his grasp to go open the door for herself, sliding on in to look out the window to her side. He got in after her, giving the address to the driver that immediately took them in the direction. The ride was kept in a hushed silence, only noise being the natural noise of the city and what the driver was playing from the radio.

_"But the ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue, but we'll live a long life."_

They stopped, John being the chivalrous man he was by pulling out his wallet to pay as she let herself out. Familiar door. Each time she had been inside had been through sneaking in through a simple window that didn’t latch. Not very hard when she thought about it. The last time she assumed she was going to get in there was through the front door. Times had changed for her and her relationship with the inhabitants of the flat.

John joined her and together they went towards the door, him allowing her in first. She went up the steps, running her fingers over the coarse wallpaper that seemed about as old as the time Mrs. Hudson had lived in this place. Nothing had changed in the layout of the flat; Sherlock’s things still dominated the area, including the skull that had always caught her fascination over where it may have come from. Still a mystery that she was desperately attempting to figure out for herself.

One of those rough hands covered hers, tugging her up the stairs that obviously led to John’s bedroom. Lovely. The one room she hadn’t gone in was this one and a part of her was almost eager to see what she could deduce from it. Upon walking in, she found that it wasn’t much; the room only held the essentials and nothing too telling of what he might be like. No pictures of family or friends, just a laptop -- closed -- on the desk that had few other belongings on it. A simple, soldiers abode.

Irene slipped her heels off and looked at him for a few moments before he made that first move, arms going tightly around her slim waist to hold her as he kissed her. Chapped lips that pushed hers apart so his tongue could slide into her mouth. The sharp taste of whiskey flooded her all over again, knocking her off her senses for a few moments. Her hands ran up the soft jumper he was wearing, feeling muscle that perhaps lurked beneath it.

Red lipstick marked his face as hers while she moved back to tug that pesky jumper over his head. Lips back together right away. The only sound was their lips breaking away every so often, sucking in air greedily to their lungs while his hands easily undid the zip of her dress. She only had to lower her arms to allow it to drop to the ground. His hands found her arse, barely covered by a standard black thong, gripping it beneath his fingers to knead the skin in a way that was absolutely sinful.

Lo and behold, the man actually knew how to treat a woman nicely.

Irene stepped forward, pushing him backwards with her body as she decided to dominate for this moment alone. Then this could go back to his night and his needs of getting over Sherlock. He needed this path more than the detective had. Those same rough hands traveled up her sides, going up to her breasts to fondle.

It was he who turned it next, moving so she was going to be on the bed while he was on top. She could feel the denim rubbing against her bare thighs and the hardness pressing into her from his groin. Delicious. Perhaps this was why Sherlock liked him so much.

Wide and dilated eyes met his, both sucking in each others air before shedding those last articles of clothing. John’s head ducked down to suck on her breast. With a moan of, “Mm,” her back arched and pressed herself closer to mouth. His tongue flicked over her nipple, it hardening by his actions, while a hand slid down her smooth stomach to grasp her, a lone finger stroking her. Another unbidden moan passed her lips.

The finger continued moving in a slow, circular motion that slowly caused her to grow wet enough for him to slide a finger into her, curling upwards to try to find that area she knew that if he found would make all this mind-blowing on her side. Irene’s arms went around his broad shoulders, nails already digging into his back when he did locate it, her giving off a God awful whimper that she hated immediately.

When the finger left her, her eyes snapped open to focus on him all over again. A smirk was on his face. Oh, she would love to smack that look away. But, another time. John’s mouth finally pulled off her breasts, sitting himself up to reach over to the drawer for the obvious thing they needed at this point.

He ripped the foil with his teeth before pulling it out, straightening it out on himself. John’s cock wasn’t too remarkable in her opinion. Not abnormally long or short, more of thick than thin. But, in her opinion, once she had seen one, she had seen them all.

John was leaning back over her in a moment, kissing her lips that had sufficiently been covered in her lipstick. Irene gasped as he pushed into her, hands moving to pin her arms to the mattress. Each thrust into her found that right spot inside her. Kisses became heated quickly, full of moans and scrambling hands. Her nails scratched at the skin that soon was damp with sweat.

It wasn’t long until she felt her clench around him, her climax washing over her that was quickly followed by his. She was quiet while he was loud, moaning before rolling off her to breathe heavily beside her. Not as well shapes he had been years ago. Irene rested there for a few moments before standing up on shaky legs, going to retrieve her clothes from the ground.

She dressed as quickly as she had gotten undressed, looking back at him at the bed before giving a small wave then leaving. Her mission was completed on all ends but one. Out of the flat, walking down the street without a care, she pulled out her phone and sent off a simple message.

_John’s going to be fine. -IA_

_Are you sure? -SH_

_I know someone who can make sure of it. -IA_  
Mary Morstan, a replacement after Kate. -IA  
Kind, trustworthy, patient. Perfect for him. -IA  
Would you like me to get in contact with her for you? -IA 

_Yes. Give her my number so I can talk to her as well. -SH_

_Of course, Mr. Holmes. -IA_

_Thank you, Irene. -SH_


End file.
